


wash cycles

by testosterlonely



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb likes routines, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, autistic!Caleb, professor!Caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 02:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterlonely/pseuds/testosterlonely
Summary: Caleb Widogast loved routines. The day all of his routines were ruined ended up being the best of his life.Also known as, the laundromat meet cute.





	wash cycles

Caleb Widogast was a man who liked a routine. In his classroom, Professor Widogast was known for his classes starting precisely on time, without fail. His office hours stayed consistent semester to semester. He and Nott, his best friend and roommate, grocery shopped every week on Mondays and Thursdays, and they always entered the grocery store at exactly 5:00, purchased the same goods (unless Nott had found one of those disastrous recipes online that she was desperate to try), and returned home by 7, in time for dinner and a movie. Caleb loved his routines.

Sundays, however, were his favorite day. His very favorite routine. 

Each Sunday, Caleb Widogast goes to the Happy Cup at exactly noon and purchases a large coffee with two creams, one sugar, and two pumps of vanilla syrup. He then hops in his rickety car (it is about to fall apart, but it is his, and he swears to drive it until the day it dies) and drives to The Sudsy Bucket, the local laundromat. He separates his laundry into three loads - whites and lights, darks, and sweaters - and pours exactly one quarter cup of pale blue laundry detergent into the same three washers he’d used every week for the last year. He then curls up in the same uncomfortable purple plastic chair, puts on headphones, and pulls out a book, losing himself in the words for precisely 23 minutes while the suds wash away the week’s worth of dirt and sweat. Once his clothes are clean, he moves them to the adjacent dryers, reads for 29 minutes, and folds each item of clothing carefully before throwing away his cup, waving goodbye to the short-haired human who works the same shift weekly at the laundromat - Beauregard, he believes her name is - and returns home. 

Every Sunday is the same, and that’s the way Caleb likes it. After the chaos he’s experienced, he reckons, he deserves some stability. Some routine. A chance to feel normal. Even though he’s afraid his past is always hiding around a corner, ready to surprise him and steal away his happiness, he cherishes these routines as much as he cherishes Nott’s laughter or Frumpkin’s purr when he’s wrapped around his neck.

Caleb never thought he would appreciate a day that his routine was broken, until that fated Sunday. The Sunday where everything went wrong.

Caleb woke up later than usual, sleeping through his alarms and Frumpkin’s insistent meowing to be fed. His breakfast was ruined when he realized with a start that the milk had spoiled overnight. “Two things wrong”, he worried, “but there is more that can be right.” The Happy Cup had a sign taped on the door in hastily written cursive reading “Closed for family emergency -Jester”, and the next closest coffee shop was busy, unfamiliar, and only had sugar-free vanilla syrup. “It’s not the same, but it’ll be okay,” he reminded himself, his therapist Bryce’s voice echoing in his head as he drove to The Sudsy Bucket. The Bucket was always stable, the same comforting smell, the same uncomfortable chair, the same grumpy Beauregard.

Until, of course, it wasn’t. 

The smell was wrong - the usual scent of clean linens and vanilla was overwhelmed by something different - patchouli, maybe? - and Beauregard wasn’t in her usual spot. Instead, a tall woman with white-to-black hair and a sullen face sat in her chair, looking uninterested. 

But that wasn’t the only thing that was wrong, the worst thing that was wrong (that ended up being the best thing that ever happened to Caleb Widogast) was the tall gray-and-pink Firbolg sitting in his usual spot, his laundry basket resting in the place where Caleb’s should be. And if he was in that seat, that meant his clothes were there too, in the washers that Caleb had used every Sunday, without fail, for the last two years. 

Caleb felt his brain begin to buzz - wrong wrong wrong wrong - and he found his hands on his forearms, scratching vigorously. It wasn’t the best coping skill, Bryce had told him, but if it calmed him down, and got him back to baseline, it was okay. As the buzzing in his brain began to dissipate, Caleb noticed the Firbolg staring at him. The look wasn’t the one of pity that he was used to from a stranger who saw his meltdowns - it was a look of genuine concern, and that shocked Caleb. The comforting look, however, was not as shocking as the realization that the Firbolg man staring at him was… handsome, and Caleb felt something stir in his chest. Butterflies, maybe? 

“Are you, uh, are you feeling okay, sir? My name is Clay, Caduceus Clay,” the firbolg - Caduceus - asked Caleb, “Here, come sit down.” He patted the seat next to him - not Caleb’s usual seat, but close to it, and Caleb felt strangely compelled to do just that. 

Caleb’s instincts told him that this was a bad idea, a wrong idea, to run and hide and find a new laundromat, but something deeper in his body told him to stay. That this man was something worth trusting in. 

So he threw caution to the wind - this day had been wrong, anyways - and sat. “It has just been a very strange day, Mr. Caduceus Clay.”

Caleb had definitely identified the source of the strange scent - it was definitely patchouli, probably mixed with some lavender - and although it wasn’t a scent he’d normally find appealing, Caleb found himself enjoying it. Maybe change was okay, if it brought this strange man into his day.

Caduceus laughed, something hearty and contagious, the kind of laugh that made Caleb feel like he should laugh along to some secret joke. “It has been a strange day for me as well, Mr. - uh, what is your name?”

“Widogast, Caleb Widogast.”

“Well, Mr. Caleb, it has been a strange day for me as well,” Caduceus began, launching into a story about tea and graveyards and a strange fungus he couldn’t get out of his favorite sweater. Caleb found himself enraptured in the firbolg’s story, listening intently for nearly ten minutes before he realized with a start that he had forgotten to start his laundry.

“Mr. Clay, I hate to interrupt, but I need to put my laundry in the washer,” Caleb began, rustling through his baskets before realizing that he had forgotten his pale blue laundry detergent. “Which, of course, I can’t do, because, as today is going, I forgot my fucking detergent.” Caleb felt himself begin to slip into the buzzing in his brain once again, before a large hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his spiral.

“Why don’t you use mine, Mr. Caleb? I don’t mind sharing, and if I can do anything to improve the strange day you have had, I’ll be happy to do that,” Caduceus suggested, smiling happily and offering Caleb a small container of a strange purplish liquid. “It may not be… typical, but I make it myself. I grow the materials in the garden and combine it with some homemade soaps.”

Again, the urge to run away, to hide from the strange gray man with his even stranger liquid bared its teeth, but he held himself back. For some reason, Caleb found himself not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the firbolg, and, before he could even think about it, he said, “Ja, thank you Mr. Clay, I would love that.”

Caleb felt his heart swell at the smile that broke out on Caduceus’ face. “That’s great, Mr. Caleb, here, I’ll show you how much you need.” 

Together, the small human and the tall firbolg loaded Caleb’s laundry into the washer and resettled themselves into the uncomfortable chairs, chatting and laughing. Caleb felt strangely happy, for a day that had gone wrong in every way possible. 

As the two men continued through their laundry, Caleb found himself dreading the end of their collective chore, wanting to hold on to the unique moment he found himself in - two weirdos, enjoying the liminal in-between space that is a laundromat and each other. 

However, the time came, and eventually, the laundry was washed, dried, and folded, and the two men prepared to go their separate way. Caleb felt the disappointment building in his heart, and began to prepare himself for the two to part and never meet again outside the walls of the laundromat.

However, he was surprised once again when Caduceus handed Caleb his phone and said, “Mr. Caleb, I would love to do this again sometimes, perhaps on a better day than today. Would you mind giving me your number so we could meet up again soon? Perhaps over coffee, or tea?”

His heart pumping, Caleb programmed his number into Caduceus’ phone and handed it back. “Ja, Mr. Clay, I think I would like that very, very much.”

And Caleb did like the next time he met up with Caduceus Clay, this time at The Happy Cup, and the next time, when Mr. Clay met Nott, and the next hundred times.

Caleb Clay-Widogast was still a man who loved routines. He still started class perfectly on time each day, and did his grocery shopping on Mondays and Thursdays, and laundry on Sundays, but these routines all had a new pink and gray addition. 

Loving Caduceus Clay-Widogast was his favorite routine of all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope to write more in this little universe soon. Special shoutouts to my fiancé for reading, the Clayleb server for being so encouraging, and bunbunko for doing some checks for me!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at testosterlonely!


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